


The truth always comes out

by tashaxxxxxx



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Family, Femal Aramis, Hurt Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-10-02 00:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20449328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashaxxxxxx/pseuds/tashaxxxxxx
Summary: AU where Aramis is a femal, hiding the fact from the world.  What happens when Aramis is injured and the other Musketeers find out the truth.  How will they react?





	1. Chapter 1

She knew joining the Musketeers had been a mistake. Aramis wasn’t a fool. She knew the look in her brothers eyes had seen it before. The anger. The Same anger every man in her life had ever shown her when they realised what she was. And now that look was mirrored in Athos, Porthos and D’artagnan.

Aramis closed her eyes, holding back the whimper of pain as she tried to keep pressure on her bleeding abdomen. She was a fool. After all, how could Aramis have ever expected to keep her identity secret from them.

.......10 years ago......

The first shot startled Aramis out of her silent contemplation of the horses head below her. The second shot made Aramis draw her pistol and jump from her horse just as a group of 5 soldiers rode past her. A group of 10 or so bandits followed in hot pursuit.

Without thinking, Aramis sighted down the barrel of her gun and shot the closest bandit in the eye. The soldiers had stopped by now and had gotten out their own weapons, turning to defend themselves Aramis thought.

She didn’t acknowledge the look of surprise from the soldiers leader as the bandits where charging her now. Aramis pulled out her second pistol, shooting another in the head as 2 bandits jumped from there horses, swords out. The others obviously deciding to deal with the soldiers behind her.

With the pistols effectively useless, Aramis drew her sword and turned to face her attackers. She wasn’t as proficient a swordsman as she was marksman but she could hold her own. A fact she proved as she parried the first mans blow. It was over in minutes. The bandits were obviously more used to attacking unarmed civilians than armed ones.

Lifting her gaze from the now 2 dead men at her feet, Aramis saw that the group of soldiers had defeated the remaining bandits. one of the soldiers was lying dead and another was on the floor, bleeding out.

“Who are you?” The leader asked, putting his sword away.

“My name is Aramis.” Aramis replied, her voice gruff from her battle with the bandits. “You or friend is injured, I can help.” She had learnt how to sew wounds in the convent, finding the sewing skills her mother had taught her as a child were easily transferable to human skin.

“My name is Captain Treville.” The man replied, lifting of his hat and nodding to his men to let Aramis through. The other soldiers had already cleared away the mans shirt so Aramis had an obstructed view of the injury.

“It will require stitching.” Treville handed her a bottle of wine which she doused the wound with and handed the soldier to drink. 

“Not going to ask my name before you stitch me up.” The soldier joked through clenched teeth. Aramis laughed a little as she thread the needle. “It’s Marsac.” The man winced as Aramis thread the needle through the skin but stayed otherwise still.

“Nice to meet you Marsac.” Aramis grinned, not looking up.

When she was done stitching the wound, Aramis stood and walked back to her horse intent up one putting some distance between herself and these men. However Treville walked towards her before she could even put her needle and thread away.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude Monseuir, you saved our lives.” Aramis froze, not looking up past the curtain of hair that had fallen over her eyes. “Are you a soldier?’

“No Captain, a simple traveler is all.” Aramis replied, not daring to look at Treville in case the facade was broken. She was wearing mens breeches and boots, her chest and corset effectively hidden beneath the mans shirt and buttoned jacket she wore. Aramis had cut her hair short when she left the convent knowing her longer brown hair would make people notice her more that she wanted. With her face hidden beneath the hat and the heat of battle, these soldiers had obviously not realised her true gender.

Treville laughed. “Now that is hard to believe.” He slapped a hand on her shoulder before continuing. “I have recently been given position of the Captain of the Kings Musketeers. We were delivering letters from Spain to his Majesty in France before we were attacked by those bandits. Without your help we would surely have lost.” Aramis thought that was a bit of an exaggeration but couldn’t help the smile that appeared.

“I am please to have helped their majesty’s men.” Aramis replied, taking her hat off with a flourish only realising her mistake then. She held her breath as Treville looked at her smooth cheeks and female features. Except Treville didn’t even blink. Apparently the men’s clothing were enough to let him keep believing her a man. Not believing he luck, Aramis went to bid them goodbye when Treville continued to speak.

“The regiment is newly formed, we could do with more men like you.” Treville looked over to where the other soldiers where helping Marsac onto the horse and loading their dead companion on the back of another. “I would like you to join us back to Paris. I will ask the King for your commission into the Musketeers.”

And it was as simple as that. No one looked at Aramis and saw an ungodly female who had no place upon men. They saw her as fellow companion. When she was presented to the King and Queen she barely received a second glance, her commission being granted like that.

It was as simple as that. The first female musketeer. And no one even knew about it.

....5 years later - after Savoy........

Marsac had abondoned her. Had abandoned their dead friends in the middle of a frozen forest outside of Savoy. Aramis shivered in her bed as her mind floated to sounds of screams coming from the campsite. She had wandered into the forest, waiting for her companions to fall asleep before risking going into the forest to relieve herself. Lest her secret be discovered.

When the screams reached her ears, Aramis pulled out her sword, cursing her own stupidity for not brining her pistols with her as she went into the fray.

They didn’t stand a chance. Her brothers had been sleeping. They were fighting in states of undress, many killed before they’d even had a chance to wake up. She was fighting with the leader, his face covered by a bandana when she got a luck cut across is back. The man growled, going to attack her again when something hit her across her head causing her to crumple unconscious to the ground.

“They’re all dead.” Aramis awake to Marsac walking among their dead friends. Dizzily, Aramis touched her head only to find a bandage had been wrapped around it. Marsac started at the sound of Aramis struggling to her feet.

The sudden change in position caused the merger contents of Aramis’ stomach to pour out but mercifully she stayed upright. “Marsac...”. Aramis started but stopped as soon as she had. Her jacket was no where to be found, her shirt have undone.

“Liar...”. Marsac stumbled away from her. “You caused this. A woman’s curse on us.” Marsac spat as he sank to his knees. Aramis blanched, unable to move from the tree that was supporting her whole weight now. The edges of her vision were black and she prayed that this was a dream. That she would wake up and the massacre had not happened. That her oldest friend was not looking at her like she was the devils incarnated.

“They’re all dead. My brothers are all dead.” Marsac did not even look at her as he walked away from them all. She could do nothing but watch, like a coward.

It was all Aramis could do to shrug her jacket on and cover the hint of the corset under her shirt as she collapsed against the trees again. Her vision spun dizzily as she looked at her fallen brothers. Maybe this was her penance. God punishing hr for breaking one of his 10 commandments. ‘Though shall not lie’. And Aramis was the biggest liar there was.

As she fell into oblivion, she only hoped she would die here with her brothers rather than have the Musketeers cast her out for being a woman.

.......

Aramis lay on the bed a pale shadow of the Musketeer Treville knew. When he had heard of what happened in Savoy, Treville had led a group of Musketeers to the site of the massacre with a heavy heart. He fully expected for their to be no survivors.

It had been Porthos who had found Aramis, a dirty bloodied bandage wrapped around the Musketeers head and so pale that Treville was convinced Aramis was dead. “He’s alive.” Porthos breathed a sigh of relief as he put fingers to Aramis’ neck.

Treville sighed a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he was holding as he told Porthos to stoke a fire as he shrugged off his cloak and placed it around his Musketeers shoulders. “Marsac is missing.” Athos walked over to them, glancing at Aramis with a look of worry that anyone other than Treville would have missed.

Porthos and Athos were new recruits to the Musketeers and were the most naturally gifted solders Treville had seen since he’d met Aramis. It was no wonder then that in the past few months the three musketeers had become so close. Looking at Athos and Porthos, Treville knew that Aramis would be safe with them while Treville escorted the dead 20 musketeers back to Paris with the remainder of their regiment.

“He’s a deserter then.” Porthos said as he sat next to Aramis, gently stroking the other Muskteers’ hair. “We need to get ‘im warmed up. Get these damp clothes off ‘I’m.” Porthos muttered, glancing from Athos to Treville.

Treville took in a breath as he looked up from where he had been studying Aramis’ face. Yes, if he left Aramis with Athos and Porthos then they would look after Aramis. That much was clear. But Treville knew he could not.

“Athos, I’m putting you in charge of transporting our men back to Paris. Porthos you will assist him.” Athos looked like he wanted to say something but Treville cut him off. “Aramis has been a Musketeer for nearly as long as the regiment began. I will transport Aramis back to Paris myself. It’s the least I can do.” The guilt welled up in Treville again, threatening to overwhelm him. But he pushed it aside stubbornly. He had been following orders and he knew that Aramis of all people would understand that. But no one could ever know about this. Treville would have to carry the weight of 20 dead Musketeers with him for the rest of his life. The same as Aramis.

“And what if Aramis...what if he doesn’t make it?” Athos hesitated, something Treville had never seen before. There was wetness in Porthos’ eyes and a pain behind Athos’ calm facade that no one but one who knew Athos well would see.

Treville looked down at Aramis, pale as death and barely breathing. Throughout this whole exchange, the Musketeer had no stirred once. “Then I will escort Aramis’ body home to have him buried beside his brothers.” Treville replied. The answer seemed to satisfy Athos who walked towards the musketeers loading their dead brothers into carts. 

Porthos took longer to move but he did. Taking one final look at Aramis and Treville, Porthos went to help move the dead musketeers.

Yes, Treville thought, Athos, Porthos and Aramis would be great friends. If Aramis survived.

.........

Aramis awoke slowly. At first it was just the bone deep cold that she felt. It seemed like that for a long time. A cold so deep she was certain she would never escape it. Eventually, a voice started to break through her thoughts. She couldn’t make out the words but it was a comfort to know she was not alone.

Eventually, Aramis started to become more aware of her surroundings. She was lying on the ground, her body spread on a sheet over the wet grass which she could feel under her fingertips. There was a warmth near her that touched her skin but did not penetrate the cold within her bones. Her eyes fluttered open. A grey canvas was above her. Shifting slightly, Aramis felt the blanket wrapped around her move.

A face came into view but Aramis could barely focus. “Marsac...”. Aramis whispered, eyes drifting closed once more.

“I’m sorry Aramis. I am so very sorry.” The voice muttered but Aramis was more losing her battle with consciousness. The last thing she remembered was the screams of her brothers dying in their beds and Marsac’s accusing eyes as he realised the truth.

........

“They’re all dead.” Aramis’ voice startled Treville out of his thoughts. When Aramis had awoken a few hours ago Treville had begun to hope the worst was behind his Musketeer but then Aramis had dropped back into unconsciousness.

Treville said nothing to this as he watched Aramis’ eyes close again. “Marsac?” The musketeer whispered, fingers twitching to the bandage Treville had changed after sewing the large head wound on Aramis’ head.

“Deserted.” Aramis said nothing to Treville’s words.

“I couldn’t stop him.” Aramis mumbled and Treville felt a lone tear drop down his cheek at the broken sounding quality in Aramis’ voice. “I couldn’t save any of them.”

“There was nothing you could do.” Treville said, taking Aramis’ hand and squeezing it under his own. He had always thought of his Musketeers as his family. As the sons he would never have and seeing what his actions had caused broke Treville’s heart into pieces.

Aramis said nothing as the musketeer struggled into a seating position. The blanket slipped out of place and Aramis let out a strangled sound from the back of her throat as she realised she make under the sheets.

“You’re clothes were soaked and I had to see to the injuries on your stomach.” Treville motioned to the dark purple bruises covering Aramis’ ribs as he passed her a shirt. Aramis took it, throwing it over herself as she gazed at Treville with a level gaze. “No one else knows the truth.” Treville said, looking at Aramis’ eyes. Her face held a challenge in them as if daring him to say something about her bosoms which Treville had so obviously seen when undressing her. Her eyes however held another emotion. An emotion that Treville hated to see on his Musketeers face. Distress. Fear. Humiliation.

Yes, he had been right to send Athos and Porthos away.

“I have always known.” Aramis stayed frozen where she was. “You’re not so good at hiding it as you believe. But then, only someone who was particularly observant would have noticed.” Treville answered, helping Aramis to sit up. She flinched from the touch but let him move him all the same.

“I didn’t notice straight away. It took a few months to realised. When you came back from the garrison injured and refusing to let anyone look at it or help you something clicked. All the times you would not go to the men’s bathhouse. One long missions when you would wait to relieve yourself when you were sure no one was looking.” Treville smiled to himself, remembering when Aramis and Marsac had returned from a skirmish with the red guards. Aramis had had blood on her thigh and had insisted that it was someone else’s. No one had seen the way she limped to her rooms.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Aramis murmured, no longer looking at Treville.

“I did not want to lose my best musketeer.” Treville said truthfully. Aramis head lifted, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Who else knows?” Aramis whispered, fear obvious no matter how much she hid it.

“No one that I know of.” Treville replied. “Though others might know and have chosen not to speak of it.” Treville continued.

“Serge knows. He’s the one who helped get the bulled out of my leg.” Aramis smiled briefly. The garrisons old cook was a kind good man. One who would take Aramis’ secret to the grave. “Marsac knows. He blamed me for....for the death of our friends.” A lone tear escaped Aramis’ eyes.

“This was no ones’ fault.” Except your own, a traitorous thought echoed in Treville’s head. “Do you hear me Aramis. This is no one’s fault.”

Aramis nodded but said no more on the matter. She closed her eyes briefly. Leaning against the tent pole which Treville suspected was the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the ground.

“We will head back to the garrison in the morning. For now rest.” Treville stood up, lifting the cover and letting in a cold breeze which made Aramis shiver. “The rest have already returned to Paris. And I swear that no one will hear the truth from me.” Treville assured her, turning his back on his injured musketeer.

“Thank you.” Aramis whispered and Treville felt emotion choke his throat as he walked into the cold night air, leaving Aramis to grieve for the brothers she had lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a little time after Series 1 episode 8

“You’ll have to grow a beard to fit in here you know.” Porthos joked as he took a swing of his beer. Aramis chucked from where she sat next to the bigger muskteer grinning as she saw D’artagnan self consciously rub at his face.

“Not everyone can grow as bushy a monstrosity as you old friend.” Aramis slapped Porthos on the shoulder as her eyes drifted over to where Athos sat. For once the older musketeer had chosen to sit with his friends, rather than drink himself into oblivion in a corner of the tavern. Though that could just because they were celebrating D’artagnan finally getting his commission into the Musketeers and none of them were willing to let Athos drink alone tonight. They were celebrating after all.

“You’re one to talk, you as smooth as a baby’s backside.” Porthos grinned as D’artagnan snorted back a laughter and even Athos let out a small smirk.

“What can I say, ladies much prefer their men to be less hairy than you.” Porthos roared with laughter at this even as Aramis ducked her head down so her hair fell over her eyes. Even after all these years of pretending, it still terrified her that her friends would one day no the truth.

“How about a game of cards?” D’artagnan announced, gaining a shout of agreement from Porthos.

“Not for me I’m afraid.” Aramis said, standing up and lifting her hat to fall onto her head. 

“Come on, even Athos is staying put tonight.” Porthos patted Athos on the back who looked at Aramis with serious eyes.

“If I am to suffer through these two, you must suffer also.” Aramis laughed at this.

“I’m afraid I have a rather urgent appointment with a young lady. I would hate to disappoint her.” Aramis countered earning a role of the easy from Porthos.

“And who would the luck lady be this time?” D’artagnan asked. After only a few months they young man had fitted so seamlessly into their group it was as if he had always been apart of it.

“A gentlemen never tells.” Aramis replied, hiding a mischievous smile even as her fingers brushed against the rosary in her pocket. “Good evening gentlemen.”

As Aramis walked the street else of Paris, she couldn’t help but wonder what her friends would really think if they knew the truth. Images of Marsac’s angry eyes appeared in her vision at the same time as Treville’s words did. The Captain had urged her to tell Athos and Porthos the truth but Aramis had never been able to do it.

When Marsac appeared back in Paris Aramis had been so scared that the truth would come out but Marsac hadn’t even remembered it. Not surprising really. Savoy was so many years ago and the memories of their dead friends had been the things Marsac’s mind focused on most. It was a blessed mercy that he had not remembered what he had seen when he bandaged Aramis’ wounds. Chances where, upon seeing her still a Musketeer, he had thought he was hallucinating.

The door the old church Aramis visited when her friends believed she was with one of her many imagined paramours creaked as she opened it. Breathing in the musty smell of the old church, Aramis felt the fear wash away.

She had been a musketeer for 10 years and the only people that knew her secret were Treville and Serge. Both treated her like she was an equal, looking past her gender and seeing the soldier she was. But Aramis knew not everyone would see her that way. And Aramis would be dammed it she saw the same look of betrayal on her brothers’ face as she had on Marsac’s all those years ago.

With that thought echoing in her mind, Aramis knelt in front at one of the pews, and prayed to God to keep her secret hidden.

........

“This is dull.” D’artagnan announced as the four musketeers headed back from the home of Duke Albion. The Duke and his wife had been a guest at the Louvre for a few weeks, enjoying the company of the royal family. Normally the Dukes that stayed with the royal family would have their own guards to escort them home but the King had enjoyed the Duke’s company that he had ordered his most loyal musketeers ensure the Duke and his family arrived home safely.

“Don’t be so eager for entertainment.” Athos replied, levelling his gaze at the youngest musketeer. “We won’t get an easy assignment like this for a while.”

“Athos is right, enjoy it while we can I say.” Porthos grinned. “I say we stop at one of the inns’ on the way back. The Captain isn’t expecting us back for a few days yet.”

There were nods of agreement all around and spurred on by a chance of wine the four musketeers spurred their horses to go faster.

.......

“Why have we stopped?” Porthos asked as he and Aramis pulled up alongside Athos and D’artagnan. Athos shrugged, glancing at D’artagnan who frowned.

“I thought I heard something.” The younger musketeer replied, glancing into the trees surrounding them.

“I can’t hear...”. Aramis started but stopped as a twig snapped behind them. Pulling her horse around, Aramis drew her pistol. “We are the King’s Muskteers. Come out and state you business.”

Porthos had drawn his horse up beside Aramis, pistol aimed in the opposite direction. She didn’t need to look to know Athos and D’artagnan had done the same beside her.

“Must have been a rabbit.” Porthos said when no other sounds were made after a few minutes. Athos was about to agree and suggest they move on when a shot echoed through the forest.

Aramis swore as red hot pain flashed behind her eyes. Shooting her pistol at the now visible shooter, Aramis breathed through the pain as Porthos let out an angry cry.

Athos and D’artagnan swung from their saddles as Aramis reloaded her pistol. 3 men ran out of the shrubbery and the four musketeers shot straight at them. 2 dropped dead from the shots the other ran straight at them. Athos pulled out his sword as he met their assailant head on.

Another shot rang out from the trees and Aramis jumped off her horse for better cover. She grunted in pain as he legs made contact with the ground and her vision went black for a moment. “You ok?” Porthos shouted, worry plain in his eyes as he pointed his pistol at another assailant she couldn’t see.

Aramis nodded back, aiming her pistol at the man running up on Porthos’ blind side. D’artagnan had his sword out now so Aramis and Porthos drew there’s as well.

The Adrenalin was kicking in now, making it easier for Aramis to work through the pain. She was wobbly on her feet but was still able to dispatch of the man that got past Porthos’ bulk and attacked her.

“They’re running scared.” D’artagnan an shouted as the bandits turned to flee.

“They obviously didn’t expect their quarry to fight back.” Athos bit out, not yet putting his sword away.

He was about to suggest they follow the men that had attacked them when Porthos cried out: “Aramis!” 

Aramis had fainted onto the dirt, face lined with pain and hand covering a bloody wound over his side. Athos and D’artagnan ran over to where Porthos was kneeling beside Aramis, hands gently running over the wound.

“Bullet went right though.” Porthos gestured to the wound on Aramis’ back. Athos let out a small sigh of relief.

Just then, Aramis groaned in pain, eyes fluttering open. “What happ’nd?” Aramis slurred, eyes clenching closed once more in pain.

“You were shot.” Athos replied dryly. “Porthos tie the wound up to stop the bleeding, we can’t stay here. Aramis, can you ride?”

“I’ll manage.” Aramis replied. Porthos gave Aramis a hand up, making Aramis hiss in pain as the injury was jostled.

“There was a clearing we passed a little ways back, it’s good cover and is closer than the inn.” D’artagnan brought over Porthos’ horse obviously understanding that Aramis wasn’t in any fit state to ride and that Porthos wouldn’t be leaving his friend alone any time soon.

“Lead the way.” Athos nodded. There was a lot of blood on the floor and the way Aramis was practically doubled over it was obvious their friend was in a lot of pain.

“How we going to do this then?” Aramis joked, looking at the other musketeers with an apprehensive look.

“D’artagnan.” The younger musketeer took Porthos’ place holding Aramis up while Porthos got himself on the horse. D’artagnan then gave Aramis a boost onto the saddle.

Porthos heard Aramis hiss in pain and thought his friend was going to pitch sideways in a dead faint again. “I’m fine.” Aramis breathed, leaning back into Porthos.

“Let’s get moving then.” Athos looked worriedly at Aramis before settling into the rear of their group, D’artagnan taking the front with Aramis’ horse behind him.

.....

Aramis clenched her eyes closed as the pain in her side was jolted at every small movement of the horse. She was finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes open as the blood loss and shock started to kick in.

This was not good. This was dangerous. There was no way Aramis would be able to brush off their concern and handle the injury herself. Not this time. To be honest, Aramis didn’t think she would be able to fight her battle with unconsciousness for much longer. There was no Treville here either which meant her brothers would have to patch her up.

That meant they would see the truth. She couldn’t let that happen. Aramis would not let that happen.

.....

“Aramis, we’re here.” Porthos gently shook Aramis’ shoulder worry settling in when the other musketeer didn’t reply.

“How is she?” Athos asked as he walked over to help Aramis down. Porthos shook his head.

“Not good, I think he’s lost to much blood.” D’artagnan was tending to the horses but upon hearing Porthos’ words he stopped.

“D’artagnan, get the medical supplies out of the bag and start a fire.” Athos snapped, patience wearing thin.

Whenever once of them was injured it was always Aramis who patched them up. Come to think of it, Athos couldn’t remember a time when Aramis had been the one that needed help after being injured. He’d certainly never seen Aramis injured and from the look of pure worry on Porthos’ face he knew the bigger musketeer had never seen it either.

Porthos gently slide Aramis down to Athos, eliciting the first response from the musketeer since they had started riding. “I’m fine.” Aramis muttered, pushing away Athos’ fawning hands as the older Musketeer gently dropped Aramis next to a tree.

“You are obviously not fine.” Porthos all but growled at Aramis.

“Porthos, help D’artagnan with the fire.” Porthos went to retort but Athos’ glare stopped him.

“I can manage on my own.” Aramis continued, eyes levelled at Athos as if daring him to try and help.

“I’m sure you can but you don’t need to.” Athos replied. He’d learnt a whole ago that Aramis, while a tactile creature to most people, hated intamite contact with any of them. A hug, or a slap of the shoulder were fine but the minutes any of them got to close Aramis’ boundary’s went up. Athos was used to ignoring this, himself not being one to enjoy even a hug among brothers, but they didn’t have that option here.

“Let us help.” Athos said, gently placing a hand on Aramis’ shoulder. The younger flinched away from the touch, dropping his gaze from Athos’.

“What about the rest of you? Is anyone else hurt?” Aramis tried, going back to the usual tactic of placing the attention on someone else.

“A few cuts and bruises but nothing like yours.” Porthos retorted. The fire was now glowing and Porthos and D’artagnan had brought over bandages, needle, thread and wine.

“If your worried about their needlework, I’ll stitch it up.” D’artagnan smiled at Aramis as he and Porthos knelt down next to their injured brother.

Athos looked at D’artagnan and nodded a silent thank you to the younger man. Porthos had no stomach for stitching wounds and Athos would never admit it but his hands always shook to much to even thread the needle let alone stitch someone’s skin.

“I’m...”

“If you say I’m fine one more time,” Porthos growled but before he continued Athos put a hand on the older man’s shoulder to stop him.

“If we leave it any longer you will bleed out. You will die here. Is that what you want?” Athos met Aramis’ gaze, not moving until Aramis finally gave a tired and resigned nod.

“Please forgive me.” Aramis whispered, eyes closed as Athos and Porthos helped their brother out of the jacket. They tore the ruined shirt off Aramis’ body, their brother all the while not saying a word.

When they were done they looked on in shock. With the jacket and shirt removed there was no covering what was there. What had so obviously been there since the day of her birth. Aramis had tried, in more recent years after Savoy to hide her bosom more thoroughly. Instead of the womens corsets she wore binders and restraints to make her body lose it’s womanly shape.

But even then with her upper body exposed it could never been hidden. Aramis bowed her head in shame, a tear falling from her eyes as she waited for her friends to abandon her.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis’ hands were covering the bloody wound in her side, the blood gushing between her fingertips was slowing and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Everything was starting to feel so far away. Her vision was blurring and the dark spots were floating in and out to the point she could no longer see her brother’s faces.

That was a good thing, Aramis’ traitorous thoughts put in unhelpfully. At least then she wouldn’t have to see the look of disgust upon their faces.

Aramis felt her eyes start to droop close even as her hands fell away from the wound. She thought she heard Porthos shout her name but maybe she was hallucinating. They had probably already left her here. Left her here to die just like Marsac had done 5 years ago in Savoy.

........

“Aramis!” Porthos’ shout snapped Athos and D’artagnan out of their shocked states. Their friend was unconscious, the blood at her side moving sluggishly from both the entrance and exit points.

D’artagnan was the first to spring into action. He grabbed a fresh cloth, poured a decent amount of water onto it and started to gently clear the blood away from the area. From where Athos stood still unable to move, he could see that the wound had left a gaping hole on Aramis’ side that they wouldn’t be able to stitch. They would have cauterise the wounds.

“We need to get these bindings off ‘im , I mean ‘er.” Porthos’s hands were shaking as he started to undo the bindings wrapped tightly around Aramis’ chest. “God, how does she even breath in these things.” Porthos whispered.

The skin beneath the binds was agrivated and there were deep marks where Aramis had obviously pulled them tightly over her breasts. Athos quickly undid his cloak, wrapping it around Aramis’ upper body careful of where D’artagnan was no clearing the wound with the wine.

“We’ll need to cauterise it.” D’artagnan announced, hands trembling slightly. The younger man’s hands were covered in blood. Aramis’ blood.

Athos nodded, taking out his blade and placing it over the fire until it turned red from heat. “I can...”. Athos started as D’artagnan came over to take the knife.

“No, you and Porthos need to hold Aramis down.” Athos nodded gravely. He took a place by Aramis’ legs as Porthos laid her head gently to the ground and clamped down on her wrists.

“How could Aramis not tell us?” Athos didn’t answer Porthos’ question, only watched as D’artagnan tried to put a brave face on as he knelt next to Aramis’ open wound.

“Ready?” The younger musketeer asked, relieving a nod from both Athos and Porthos.

Without a seconds hesitation, D’artagnan pressed the hot blade to Aramis’ skin.

......

Searing pain brought Aramis round. She bucked, trying desperately to escape it but hands held her down. “I need to do the other side.” Aramis heard someone say and felt as her boy was moved onto her front.

Aramis screamed and she felt her body convulse in agony as the blade was once more pressed against her skin. “Porthos hold her down.” Was that Athos shouting, Aramis didn’t know. All she knew was the white hot flame of agony as he body fought to escape it. And then there was nothing.

......

“Thank God.” Porthos breathed as Aramis’ fighting body finally went limp in his arms. D’artagnan stepped back a look of horror on his face. Before anyone could say anything, their youngest member had turned away from them and vomited in the trees.

Athos stood up, putting a comforting hand on D’artagnan’s should as the knife dropped to the floor. Porthos gently turned Aramis over so she was lying on he back once more. Looking down, Porthos swallowed back the lump in his throat.

He and Aramis were close. They were brothers. They all were. Aramis knew all their secrets, the good and the bad and supported them with everything. SO how could they have never noticed. How could they have never seen the truth.

.......

Aramis awoke to the sound of voices around the camp fire. She had been placed on the floor, wrapped in blankets. Gently, she pressed fingers against the wound on her side, feeling fresh bandages under her fingertips. She groaned a little as she attempted to sit up.

“Hey, hey. Lie back down.” Gentle hands pushed down on Aramis’ shoulders. Porthos.

“I’m not an invalid.” Aramis muttered, well aware the breathy quality to her voice said otherwise.

“You were shot, so for the moment you are.” Athos’ dry voice replied. Aramis hummed for a moment, eyes closing as a wave of pain came over her.

That;s when she realised something. The bindings she wore to keep her breasts in check were missing. She wasn’t wearing a shirt. They knew.

“Aramis?” D’artagnan’s voice broke through her revelation. She swallowed back the thick emotions waiting to overwhelm her and opened her eyes once more. Aramis could feel the sting of tears in her eyes and prayed that they didn’t see them.

“I’m fine.” Aramis breathed once more, wishing they would leave. Wishing they would not see her breaking down.

“You’re not fine.” This was Athos, his hand pressing onto Aramis’ own squeezing gently. “Why didn’t you tell us?” The accusation was obvious in the older man’s tone and Aramis felt red hot anger pierce her heart.

“You didn’t need to know.” Aramis surprised Porthos who was kneeling next to her bed as she sat bolt up right. The pain alighted in her side and Aramis swayed dangerously, Porthos putting a hand on her should to keep her stead. “Get off me.” Aramis all but yelled, anger coming more now. They were treating her like glass. Like was was some damsel they needed to protect when she was their brother. 

Porthos flinched away from Aramis, having never heard such venom in his friends voice. “Aramis, we’re only trying to help.” Athos now.

“You are treating me like glass, I do not need your help.” Aramis pulled her hand away from Athos. Wrapping the sheet tight around her, Aramis pushed herself to he feet. The world danced sickingly in her vision but she would not show weakness now. Aramis knew she could not afford to do that.

“Aramis, please sit down. You’ve lost to much blood.” D’artagnan’s hands settled on her and she pushed him away. She staggered forwards, nearly losing her balance before she came to rest against a tree.

“My clothes, please.” Aramis whispered, not daring to look at her friends. She could not care to see their looks of betrayal. Of anger. Of hatred. She could not bare to see her friends see her for what she truly was.

Porthos handed her shirt wordlessly and Aramis shook her head. That wasn’t what she needed. She needed to hide away the sight of her womanhood, could not bare for her figure to be shown underneath her clothes for her brothers to see.

“You can’t.” Athos breathes, hands out as if walking towards a wild animal. Aramis struggled into her shirt, the covers she had wrapped around her dropping to the floor and giving her brothers another look at the bruises under her skin where the binding and restraints had been.

“Athos, I need...”. Aramis whispered, knees giving out as the fight washed out of her. She slid to the floor, bringing her legs up so she could hide her face from them.

“I’m sorry Aramis, but the wound is still to fresh. You need to heal first.” Aramis let out a sound close to a dying animal as the tears fell freely down her cheeks.

Porthos went to comfort Aramis but Athos shook his head sharply. Aramis had curled in on herself, head bowed and not looking at her friends. “She needs us.” Porthos growled as Athos stood between him and Aramis.

“I know, but if you force her you will lose her.” Athos knew this with a sudden clarity. If they tried to comfort Aramis now, she wouldn’t see it as a kindness, she would see it as a weakness. Aramis wouldn’t believe the truth, that they helped her not because of her gender but because she was their brother. All Aramis would see would be what she wanted to see.

It was perhaps one of the hardest decisions of Athos’ life, up there with choosing to hang Anne. But he did it. He did it because he knew Aramis needed them to do it. 

He walked away. And he prayed to the God that Aramis believed in that he had not made the biggest mistake of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

It took all her strength to stop the sobs wracking her body. Aramis hiccuped as she wiped away her tears and slowly disentangled her legs. The wound on her side was a steady throbbing but Aramis was thankful for it. It kept her distracted from the pain in her heart.

Porthos, Athos and D’artagnan sat around the campfire a few paces away. They watched her but they didn’t come near her. What must they think, Aramis wondered as she buried her head into Athos’ cloak. It hadn’t been a cover as she had originally thought that covered her but her friends cloak. The older musketeer must have given it to her when they were dealing with her wound, Aramis’ brain helpfully supplied.

Her stomach growled then, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since they had left the Duke’s home that morning. Hard to believe that had been only this morning. So much had happened since.

Aramis closed her eyes, resting her head against the tree, hoping to ignore her stomachs complaints but she knew it didn’t matter. Either way, she would have to brave her friends eventually. Gingerly, Aramis got to her feet. The pain in her side almost sent her to floor once more but Aramis had always been more stubborn than that.

Hesitantly, Aramis made her way over to the campfire and sat herself down a little way from her friends. Athos handed her a bowl of broth, watching here motions carefully. Aramis was aware she was favouring her uninjured side, her arm curled protectively to cover the injury so as not to jostle it further.

“I’m sorry.” She started after a few mouthfuls. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“You had your reasons.” Athos interrupted both D’artagnan and Porthos who were about to say something.

Aramis said nothing, just went back to eating her broth. Porthos sat with his head bowed, looking into the fire as if he could find every answer in the world there. Athos sat looking at Aramis with an unreadable expression that had Aramis almost flinching. D’artagnan was also watching Aramis but with big puppy dog eyes that made Aramis’ heart wrench with guilt. She had lied to them. To all of them. She didn’t deserve their forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you tell us?” Porthos suddenly growled.

“I was scared.” Aramis replied, so quietly she didn’t think Porthos has heard her.

The bigger musketeer lifted his gaze then to meet Aramis’, his eyes filled with tears and the betrayed look that Aramis had been so afraid of seeing on her brothers’ eyes. “We’re your brothers Aramis. How could you be afraid of us?”

Aramis glanced to the floor, unable to look at the betrayal in Porthos’ eyes. “Everyone that knows the truth abandons me.” Aramis whispered, a stray tear leaking from her face as she angrily brushed it away.

“We are you’re brothers Aramis, we will never abandon you.” Athos spoke with such conviction, Aramis felt her heart break all over again.

“How can you say that?” Aramis flashed her gaze over each of them in turn, she couldn’t believe those words. She had spent to much time believing the complete opposite. “I am an abomination. A woman who believes herself a man. I am unnatural. How can you say you will never abandon me Athos.” Aramis’ eyes fell onto Athos tears glistening in the firelight and her hands trembling.

“You can’t believe that.” Porthos jumped to his feet, sitting himself next to Aramis. Hesitantly he placed an arm on her shoulder.

“It’s the only truth I’ve ever known.” Aramis murmured, eyes dropping back to her hands.

“You are our brother Aramis. Nothing will ever change that.” D’artagnan had sat himself on the other side of Aramis. He didn’t touch Aramis yet, remembering all to well the way she had staggered away from them.

“Except I am not. I am not your brother because I am a woman.” Aramis argued. Why couldn’t they see the truth. Why didn’t they see what she was.

As Athos looked at Aramis, he thought back to Savoy. When he and Porthos had found her unconscious in the snow. Treville had stayed behind. At the time Athos had questioned why the Captain had stayed. He had never voiced his questions but he had held them just the same. But now, Athos thinks he has his answer.

“Treville doesn’t see you as a woman.” Athos pointed out. Porthos and D’artagnan frowned at Athos not understanding what was being said. “I’m presuming her knows the truth.” Aramis nodded slowly at Athos’ words. “He sees the same thing we all do. A musketeer. A loyal and dutiful musketeer. Our brother. Is that not how you see yourself Aramis?”

“It doesn’t matter what I see.” Aramis argued albeit weakly this time. “What I feel doesn’t change the facts. It doesn’t change my body. It doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t change anything because you are still Aramis. The same idiot that flirts outrageously with every woman in court.” Porthos squeezed Aramis’ shoulder once more.

“And if those women ever found out the truth they would be disgusted.” Aramis could not understand why her friends found it so hard to understand the truth of what she was. “Women are not meant to fight. They are not meant to be musketeers.’

“Yes they are.” D’artagnan retired. “Constance would agree with me. Just because you are a woman does not mean you can’t defend yourself. Doesn’t mean you can’t fight.” Athos and Porthos both nodded. 

Aramis shook her head. Thoughts, unbid, flashed back to when she was a child in her small village. Even then she had been different. All she wanted to do was roughhouse with the boys. She could never understand why her parents had made her learn sewing, why they forever forced her to dress in dresses. And skirts. Why they had never let her be who she wanted to be and the minute she tried to be the man she knew she was deep inside they had kicked her out. Abandoned her.

“My family cast me out because of who I am. They hated me because I wanted to dress like a man and fight like a man. I disgusted them so much they sent me to a convent. They abandoned me because they knew the truth.”

“Then they weren’t any family I would want.” Porthos continued.

“You truly don’t think any less of me.” Aramis whispered. At this Athos also moved closer.

“Aramis you are our brother. Whether you are a man or a woman it doesn’t matter. We always know that you will have our back, no matter what.” Aramis lifted her eyes to meet Athos and smiled gratefully.

“All for one.” Porthos said as they sat huddled together.

“And one for all.” They all replied.

Their pact. Their pact that they would be there for each other no matter what. That they were not alone. That they would never be alone.

.......

The morning found Aramis asleep, surrounded by her brothers. She smiled slightly to herself, feeling as if a great weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders. Her brothers knew the truth. They knew the truth and they were still here. They accepted her for who she was, and that was all Aramis had ever wanted.

Not wanting to wake them up, Aramis slowly got to her feet, wincing at the pain in her side. It would need redressing before they moved for the day. After relieving herself, Aramis went to her horse to collect a fresh bandage. The sun was only just starting to rise for the day so Aramis knew the 4 would be up soon.

As she pulled the bandages out of her saddlebag, Aramis found the restraints she had been using tossed into the bag as well. Without meaning to, Aramis found her hand rest against her unflattering chest. How she hated her body. She hated it with every fibre of her being. It was a daily reminder that as much as Aramis tried, she could never truly belong to anyone. Not even the musketeers.

Angrily, Aramis took the restraints and wrapped them around her bosom as hard and as tight as she could. Not taking into account her injury, the tightening of the restraints against her breasts caused her injury to tug open. With a gasp, Aramis felt white hot pain as the overly stretched skin caused part of the injury to break open.

Aramis groaned as she felt blood tickle her fingers through the bandages. Slowly, Aramis undid the bandages that D’artagnan had placed on her.

The burn mark on her side was an ugly bright red mark, now slightly torn open. Thankfully the tear was minute and had already started to clog up. It would scab, which would undoubtedly leave the scorched skin even more tender than it was but it wasn’t too bad.

“You should soak it in alcohol.” D’artagnan announced from behind her, causing Aramis to jump. “If I’d known you’d be able to tear cauterised skin I wouldn’t even have considered stitching it.” The younger tried to joke but it was obvious that he was worried.

“It’s a gift.” Aramis quipped as she grabbed the wine bottle from the saddlebag. “Athos will be displeased with me for wasting so much wine.” D’artagnan laughed at this as he took the wineskin and poured some over the wound. Aramis breathed through her nose as pin pricks of pain ran through her.

“You shouln’t have those so tight.” D’artagnan remarked, motioning to the bindings Aramis hadn’t yet hidden under her shirt.

Suddenly self-conscious Aramis grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. “It’s done now harm before.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t cause lasting harm.”

“When did you become a physician.” Aramis retorted, more angrily than she had meant to. D’artagnan did waver though. The younger was more stubborn than any of them when he an idea in his head.

“Aramis, they must hurt.” Aramis didn’t answer. The did hurt. All the time. She never used to have them so tight. When she’d first come to the musketeers she had worn corsets. She had been travelling as a man but she did so alone. No one would ever know that she was really a woman because no one would ever get that close.

Except then she’d become a musketeer and after a few months Aramis knew corsets weren’t feasible anymore. Not if she wanted to keep it secret. So she’d used binding and restraints. Never harshly, only to keep her body looking more like a mans. Then after Savoy, after the Captain had revealed what he knew Aramis had started to tighten them. Slowly over many years she’d continued tightening them until it came to the point where there were always bruises littering her top half, her breasts black and blue from constant torment. It was hard to breath sometimes but Aramis fought through it. Because she couldn’t afford for her brothers to know the truth.

“You don’t have to hide anymore.” D’artagnan said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Not from us.”

“But I do from the rest of the world.” Aramis replied. Athos and Porthos had woken up now and she could see them watching her and D’artagnan.

“You don’t have to hurt yourself to hide though.” D’artagnan pointed out. Aramis knew the younger was right but after all this time, it was so difficult to believe it.

“Let me...”. D’artagnan didn’t continue and Aramis didn’t answer. It was a losing battle anyway. Aramis slowly lifted her shirt, turning her back away from her brothers so as to hide the emotions running across her face. D’artagnan slowly undid the binds, making her ribs creak out in relief. He redid them so they kept her breasts contained but not so tight that it hurt every time Aramis moved. He then redid the bandages around Aramis’ wound. 

“Thank you.” Aramis said as D’artagnan walked back to Athos and Porthos who were sorting breakfast.

Breakfast was thankfully a quieter affair than last nights dinner. They didn’t say anything but they had never needed to. It was a quiet companionship but it was a companionship all the same.

............

Treville stood on the balcony as he watched his four best musketeers ride through the garrison gates. Athos and D’artagnan were leading the group, Porthos riding next to Aramis who had a pained look on her face.

“What happened?” Treville asked as the three men jumped from their horses and Athos helped Aramis down. She had a pained expression on her face and her hand hovered over her lower abdomen.

“We were attacked on the rode. Some of us thought it would be a good idea to jump in front of a bullet.” Porthos sent a pointed glance at Aramis at this.

“I did not jump in front of a bullet, it was shot at me.” Aramis retorted a tired smile appearing on her face as a stable boy took their horses away.

“Where their any other injuries?” Treville asked, gaining shakes of the head from the others. “The Duke?”

“Safely home with his wife. It happened on the way back.” Treville nodded to Athos’ words.

“Get some rest. I’ll expect you back on duty by mornings muster.” Treville stated, turning back to the balcony as Porthos dragged Aramis towards Serge and much needed food. D’artagnan followed earthly, all three putting food on their plates enough for a dozen men.

Treville expected Athos to follow his brothers but the other musketeer instead followed Treville to his spot on the balcony. “We know the truth.” Treville nodded, not needing to know which truth.

“I take it you understand why I never told you.” Treville replied, not once taking his eyes off the trio below.

“Yes. It will come out one day.” Athos responded.

“I know and it will destroy Aramis when it does.” Athos didn’t reply to Treville’s words, only following his gaze to his 3 brothers. 

“We won’t let anything happen to her.” Athos said, not waiting for Treville’s reply.

As Athos sat at the table next to D’artagnan and Porthos placed a bowl of Serge’s best broth in his hands Treville couldn’t help but smile.

The insperables were legendary all of the Paris. If only anyone else knew how close the 3 (now 4) musketeers where. How closely they kept each others secrets, how closely they defended each other. 

Aramis glanced up at the Captain and gave him a small smile. There were 5 people in world that now new Aramis’ secrets. Every single one of the would take that secret to the grave. But Treville knew, just as Aramis did, that it would only take one small mistake. A simple slip of the tongue or an ill fated accident for others to discover the truth.

And like Aramis, Treville knew that if the wrong person found out about her, not even her brothers would be able to save her.


End file.
